Just Drifting Through
by Quoth The Rose
Summary: A name makes you somebody, right? What if you're just drifting on the wings of memory? Drift reflects a bit. IDW based; I own nothing but the writing. Some Wing/Drift moment.


He didn't really know how long he'd sat there, looking for something, _anything_ to look at and keep himself occupied. It could've been hours, for all he knew. It was still rather early in the day, and if he was _this_ bored now, he wasn't sure how much longer he would be able to sit there and do absolutely _nothing_. Well, maybe not nothing.

So he drew little patterns into the dusty ground beneath him, wiping them away after and starting over again. It was a shame that he wasn't a very good artist, or this might've been a bit more engaging. Scooping up a handful of pebbles, he took one and looked it over before tossing it over his shoulder.

'Ping.'

And straight into someone.

His shoulders automatically tensed, like a child who did something wrong when they honestly hadn't meant to. And, well, he _hadn't_ meant to. Rather reluctantly and with no small amount of shame, he slowly turned with an air of slight nervousness to see whatever damage he may have inadvertently done.

And looked right into a pair of golden optics glowing with amusement.

"You don't have to stay here, you know. I've been watching you pace back and forth. You're restless." Spoken so gently, full of warmth and understanding. And he knew perfectly well his companion was hiding laughter behind that serene voice of his.

"How could you have been watching me when you're supposed to be meditating? That _is _what I was drug out here for, isn't it?"

Those golden optics brightened, a grin slowly spreading over the lips of their owner. "_I_ didn't drag you out here, _you _came of your own free will. How am I supposed to focus when you're throwing rocks at me?"

He scoffed, turning his helm away from that bright gaze with a sheepish expression, a slight pout furrowing his brows. "I didn't mean to do that. I…forgot you were back there. Besides, there's nothing else to do. I thought you would be a little more active than _this_." Crossing his arms over his chassis and lifting one shoulder in a half hearted shrug.

That grin softened into a smile, the mech propping one elbow against his thigh and resting his chin in his palm. "Not so interesting, I'm afraid. Go on, Drift. I know you can't stay still. I'll be right here when you get back. I can't think with all this activity." There was that sly tone he knew was coming. It wouldn't take even a glance around to tell anyone that there was absolutely _no_ activity other than the two mechs.

Drift looked into those imploring optics before he nodded slowly, almost hesitantly. "I'll be back soon, Wing." Heaving himself up from his rock that he had been using as a seat, it took only a nod and a gentle shooing motion from the other before he was rolling his optics and off for a walk to do…whatever he happened upon.

Leaving behind a mech who watched him saunter off with a tender fondness, and a new sense of peace and calm. A calm that was released by it's chaotic other half.

Left alone to wander, Drift couldn't help but to ponder on his ever consistent companion. Wing was everything he was not; patient and compassionate. He thought before he spoke, and he always knew what to say. Drift, however, could hardly muster up a mumble at best. Were one to look at his track record and past, it was entirely understandable. Countless years with the Decepticons twisted a mech's instincts, turned everything over to the edge. Spoken words were empty. Free thought and opinions were not welcomed. One lived only to fight. Only to kill. Or be killed. If your mind strayed into thought, death was almost certain.

But now…Wing sought him out, encouraged him to speak more freely, to give his opinions. To be _open_ and unafraid to be free. And he did it all with an eager sincerity. An honest concern that had occurred to him only one other time in his sinful and shame filled life…_One other_…

"_Hey buddy! Why are you sitting over here by yourself? Don't you want a little company?" The voice was all too happy, almost carefree. He wasn't sure he liked hearing such joy from another, or perhaps it was because he was unused to experiencing it. One could only be so happy living with nothing to their name._

_He offered the other mech a soft grunt, amber optics narrowing into a slight glare at being approached so suddenly. His tone of voice was flat as he replied bluntly, "No." He could've attempted to bristle the plating on his frame to appear intimidating. But one couldn't look truly unapproachable when they were covered in dirt and dust, plating ridges cracked and faded in multiple places. Curled up and huddled back against a beaten wall. That's what happened when living on the streets. This is what it really meant to survive. Being the lowest of the castes; so low as to not even be on the totem pole of society._

_A quick glance up showed not pity in the other mech's optics; but a gentle and almost wry understanding. He still didn't understand how someone could be so utterly compassionate when they had to snatch and steal to survive. Knowing there wasn't anyone else outside of your caste group that gave a damn, wasn't a comforting thought for him. It only made him angry and more than a little hopeless. And yet here this mech was, doing his best to give them hope and not giving a second thought to his own well-being. Only the others, this little rag-tag and run down family they had formed._

"_Why do you still insist on having me socialize, Gasket?" Was there a time when he hadn't spoken so flatly, so dry and blunt? He couldn't really remember. He'd been like this for as long as he knew. But that still didn't make it any easier. He supposed it was the feeling of being alone, of having no one to care. Because he had nothing. That's what hurt the most. There would be no one to miss him. Except, maybe_…

It took him a moment to realize that he'd walked straight up an old dusty path that lead right to the top of a plateau, azure optics gazing out over the horizon before fading once more into memories long gone.

"_Well, you look so sad all by your lonesome over here. You always sit in your corner and just sulk." The mech shrugged carelessly and flopped his bottom down onto the edge of an overturned metal crate. He could've groaned at that; this meant he wouldn't be left alone for a while. Deep down, he knew he didn't mind the company. But outwardly, he scoffed and haughtily turned his helm the opposite direction. This elicited a snicker from his recent companion, who proceeded to just babble on and on. Something about the corrupt and unfair government, and how Gasket wished to have equal rights between them all. Even he, who had always lived on the streets, still had hopes and dreams, even for the wealthy who looked down on them like scum._

_He tuned out Gasket to delve into his own thoughts about that topic; his own views were actually rather similar. There was the issue, of course, of a gutter rat having someone listen and helping them make a difference. He realized after a moment that his company had stopped talking and was now looking at him with inquiry, helm tilted slightly. "What is it?"_

"_I said, when are you gonna get a name so I can stop calling you 'buddy' or 'guy' or something? Surely you've thought of one, or have had one before? What's it gonna be? Unless of course, you're just drifting through."_

_His own helm tilted, a distant glow taking place within his optics and his lips pulling down further into a thoughtful frown. A name? An identity. A way to be an individual. He slowly, absently shook his helm while murmuring, "I don't know…."_

_Drift_…

A soft murmur, almost a whisper. Just as he went to analyze it, he was pulled from his distracted haze by that same whisper, but louder and quite familiar. "Drift? There you are! I was starting to think that you'd lost your way." His optics brightened as he came back to the present, seeing Wing making his leisurely way up to where he was currently standing. Drift was slowly but comfortably becoming used to seeing that gentle and patient smile on the flier's face. Once it infuriated him, but now, nothing calmed him more. Nothing besides those bright golden optics. It was in these optics that Drift would later recall just how dark his life had been before.

For those very same optics were the light that guided him into the sun. Changed his night into day; his storms for stars. Taking note of what Wing had said, Drift turned back to look at the sun as it slowly sank into the Earth's consistent embrace. Mumbling almost inaudibly to no one in particular, and yet quietly to everyone, he replied, "I _was_ lost. But I think I'm on my way now." He didn't see the way that bright smile dropped from Wing's face, and his optics seemed surprised before tenderness filled them. A gentler smile took it's place, the flier ever so softly wrapping his arm around the others waist. He leaned his forehead against Drift's temple, golden optics dimming into content slants before he whispered into the fading sun…

_"I will always find you."_


End file.
